DI Jack Frost 02 - A Touch of Frost

matter of life and death. The woodentops in the foyer call him over the Tannoy. He legs it across the foyer, picks up the phone and this tart says, “Hold on a minute, please, and we’ll get the heart specialist.” As it happens, his old lady has a wonky ticker, so he swallows it and holds on.’
    Frost said, ‘Who spoke on the phone? A man or a woman?’
    ‘A woman - supposed to be a nurse, wasn’t she, the bloody slag. Anyway, this burke, this cretin, this lump of horse manure, just holds on for bloody ever listening to sod all. After about six minutes of deafening silence, it suddenly occurs to him that perhaps he’s being taken for a mug. He hangs up and dials his old lady’s house . . . and she answers the phone, bright and cheerful, fit as a bleeding fiddle. So then it’s his turn to have a heart attack. He nips back here, wallops out the signal. No reply. He tries again. Nothing. Finally he plucks up the courage to come and tell me about it. Me and the boys come running. Takes us nearly ten minutes with a sledge hammer and an axe to smash our way in and . . . surprise, surprise! The money isn’t there anymore, but Croll’s out cold on the floor, blood trickling from his head, a surprised look on his stupid face, and a pain in the leg where I booted him.’
    Frost poked a cigarette in his mouth and scratched a match on the desk top. ‘So what happened? How come the foolproof scheme didn’t work?’
    Baskin stared at the desk top and tried to erase the mark of Frost’s match with a spit-moistened finger. ‘You tell me. The ambulance took him away before I could get any proper answers.’ He took out his silk handkerchief and worried away at the mark on the desk. ‘That won’t bloody come off, you know.’
    Frost puffed a smoke screen over the blemish. ‘What did you say his name was?’
    ‘Croll . . . Tom Croll.’ Baskin didn’t miss the quiver of recognition from the inspector. ‘Don’t tell me the little bastard’s got form? Don’t tell me I’ve employed an ex-con to guard my bloody money? I’ll break both his bleeding legs.’
    ‘Live and let live, Harry,’ soothed Frost. ‘If he doesn’t mind working for a crook, why should you mind employing one? Tommy Croll’s done the odd bit of time, but only for petty stuff. He hasn’t got the bottle to pull off a stunt like this. ‘Where’s the other guard, Harris, the one who got the dodgy phone call?’
    Baskin seemed preoccupied in watching his cuff links glitter in the light. ‘He . . . er . . . had a bit of an accident - walked into a door - hurt his nose and blacked both his eyes. I sent him home to recover.’
    ‘You’re a nasty piece of work, Harry,’ Frost told him. ‘I hope he sues you.’
    ‘What was the exact sum of money taken?’ asked Webster, realizing that Frost had asked a lot of questions but hadn’t touched on the basics.
    ‘Five thousand, one hundred thirty-two pounds,’ answered Baskin. ‘One of our slack nights - the end of the week it could be nearer twenty grand.’
    Webster jotted this down. ‘And what time did the robbery take place?’
    ‘Round about five past eleven,’ said Baskin casually.
    Frost, whose eyes had again been drawn to the magnetic north of the breasts and bottoms of the pinups, spun around. ‘Five past eleven?’ he said incredulously. ‘That’s more than four hours ago!’
    Baskin spread his hands. ‘So what? I had no intention of calling you in, but my expensive lawyer told me that as a crime’s been committed I’ve got no choice. Your being here is just a formality to satisfy our insurers. What’s a lousy five thousand quid to me? It’s chicken feed! I can stand the loss, but what I can’t stand is the humiliation. He who pinches my purse steals trash, but he who filches my good name gets both his bloody legs broken. So I’ll find the bastard myself. Just take the details, go to the bar and have a free drink on the house, and then push off and forget all about it. Leave the hard work to me.’
    Frost shook his head. ‘Sorry, Harry, but we like to beat our own prisoners up. It’s one of the few pleasures we’ve got left. What was the money packed in?’
    There was a black fibreglass attaché case in the corner. Baskin picked it up and showed it to the two men. ‘It was in two cases like this.’ He held it out for Frost to examine, but the inspector wasn’t there. ‘Where’s the old git got to?’
    ‘The old git’s down here,’ called a voice from behind